


First Encounters

by PhoenixFire17



Series: Nagron Behind the Scenes [1]
Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Gay Relationship, Developing Relationship, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-18
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFire17/pseuds/PhoenixFire17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spartacus' band of rebels liberate another villa. While assessing the fighting skill of the slaves, Agron becomes interested with one in particular and he begins to have naughty thoughts. At the same time Tiberius is doing some appraising of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Agron's Attention Is Claimed

**Author's Note:**

> This is a part of a series I want to do where I go in and expand on my favorite scenes/lines within the Nagron storyline.
> 
> There is very mild smut at the end, even though I wanted it to be a lot dirtier it just didn't work with this particular scene. I will be posting naughtier works eventually though :)
> 
> Eventually there will be a second chapter done in Nasir's POV, so keep a lookout for that.
> 
> I do not own any of the original characters, plot lines, or dialogue. I do not profit from this story. However please respect the fact that this is an original work and a result of long hours wrangling plot bunnies and epic battles with my arch-nemesis...grammar. Please do not re-purpose this story without my permission.

Agron felt like a caged hound panting to be let loose to join the hunt. Spartacus had sent two men over the wall of the villa to silently clear the courtyard of guards and to open the gate for the rest. Agron hated waiting, especially while others reveled in the joy of spilling Roman blood when he could not. An eternity passed and Agron began to shuffle his weight between feet. His muscles were aching to move, to split open the Roman villa and watch the life's blood of its inhabitants moisten dry sand. When it seemed as if the gates would never sway, they quietly opened from within and the horde of bloodthirsty rebels surged forward with Spartacus at its head, Agron and Crixus at his sides.

Agron's movements were those of a hardened warrior, one accustomed to the chaos of battle. His training received as a gladiator at the ludus of Batiatus had only honed already sharp skills developed in his homeland East of the Rhine. This made his blade little more than a blur in the moonlight, the sharpened steel a force in its own right, seeking out Roman veins to open to night air. Gladiator and gladius were as two halves of one whole, a matched pair performing sacred dance of blood and death in a swirl of tanned skin and glistening steel. Many Romans forfeited life to their deadly might. Even when a lucky counter from a Roman shield saw Agron separated from his partner, the German did not cease his onslaught. Now armed with only fists, Agron continued to send Romans to the afterlife, armor and shield no defense against his heightened bloodlust.

When battle was won and villa taken it took several heartbeats for the German's mind to clear and guard to lower. Though victory was theirs, Agron was left in bitter mood. His bloodlust had not been sated and their spoils consisted of little in Agron's eyes. True, they now had roof over head and food in stomach, yet the villa only consisted of a handful of house slaves. The women were soft and the men softer, none would ever be able to grip shield or thrust blade in the German's opinion. And Spartacus was still blinded by the Undefeated Gaul's unquenchable desire to be reunited with his woman, Naivea. A woman who Agron was convinced already resided in the afterlife and if not, was not far from its grasp.

Agron broke such words to Spartacus after Crixus fell from sight, seeking to reign in the Gallic shits he called men from their boisterous celebrations.

"He is given crumbs, yet you present his fucking meal," he said with sneer upon lips.

Spartacus seemed unaffected by Agron's distaste for continued search, "His heart aches for nourishment. I would see it well fed."

Agron sighed in exasperation, "Even if Naevia lives, she will not be the woman he holds to memory. If we are to stand against Glaber and the Romans we must liberate fighting men. Not waste effort on dwindling hope and worthless house slaves!" He could not understand how Spartacus could not see the wisdom in this. He held no ill will against the girl, yet they were on treacherous ground against Glaber and stood greatly outnumbered. If they did not gain new men, preferably those who had existing skill with sword, they would never hold against the Roman army.

Spartacus turned, piercing Agron with his stare, "Every man has his worth."

With that he turned toward where the other men had lined up the newly liberated slaves. The five men before them were small, lacking any muscle or strength, clearly never having to endure hard labor and enjoying the lush surroundings of favored house slaves. As Spartacus dove into his speech about freedom and no longer suffering under the whip of Roman masters, Agron's eyes lit upon the man standing closest to him.

Seeming to be more a youth than a man, he reached only as far as Agron's shoulders, the smallest of all the slaves. Yet unlike the others, the man was lithe and lean, with the promise of hardened muscle visible just beneath the flesh. And it was gorgeous flesh at that, smooth as velvet and the color of honey mixed with cinnamon and glistening with a layer of sweat. It begged to be touched and tasted, the slopes of his form wanting to be traced by tender hands. Long ebony locks dusted his delicate shoulders while the front half was held back from his face by a leather cord. The strands that escape from his tie slightly curled and twisted in the night breeze, causing Agron's insides to clench from wanting to run his fingers through its layers. His features were hard, a stark contrast to his small and delicate frame. He possessed a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and a straight nose. He had large eyes, rimmed in lush lashes the same shade as his hair. They were hypnotic, the color of warm soil freshly tilled and ready for planting. They seemed to draw Agron in and drown him in their depths. Agron feared what he would do if the man actually met his eyes. Yet what held Agron's attention were his lips. A delectable hue of rose only a few shades darker than his skin, they were large and full, looking as if bee-stung. The top lip formed a perfect bow and the bottom was built for biting and sucking into lover's mouth. They appeared as soft as silk and were framed by the shade of a beard, just enough to create contrast and cause delicious friction when lips met in intimate embrace.

Agron found himself drifting within shameless thoughts of the smaller man under him, open and wanting. He wanted to kiss the man from forehead to toes and back, tasting every crevice and shadowy corner of the man's form. He saw his fingers buried deep in those dark strands, holding on tight as teeth and tongue tasted him and drove him to madness. He wanted to feel the sting of the slave's nails as Agron tasted for himself, licking and kissing till the man was speechless and spiraling out of control. He wished to see the man straddling Agron's hips, head back and eyes clenched with mouth open and moan upon lips, while Agron thrust deep inside the smaller man. Agron even wished to be taken by the man, a reversal in roles he rarely allowed. Yet he wished to be claimed by the slave, to revel in the forbidden pleasure of being split open and made vulnerable. He wanted to touch and taste and tease until both he and the slave were limp and exhausted from the force of their respective release. He wanted to…

Spartacus' call for swords broke Agron from his thoughts and he looked away from the slave to see Tikus and Sofus distributing newly gained weapons to ill-trained hands. Agron shook his head and looked away, as much in response to Spartacus' madness as to his thoughts toward the slave. When he looked back, Sofus was offering sword to Agron's slave, who refused to accept at first. Agron was surprised to see defiance and anger within those earthy eyes and snarl upon tender lips. The fire upon the man's face had heat pooling and Agron's cock twitching. Agron was once again entranced by the slave, yet he could not fathom why. True he was a gorgeous man, one built for lustful play between the sheets. Yet Agron had seen many beautiful men and none had captured his attention as this strange little man had. Turning away he vowed to keep apart from that wild little dog and hopefully banish him completely from mind.

Yet he never imagined the depth of the slave's hold upon mind and body, and he never expected that the hold would claim his heart.


	2. Tiberius Meets His Golden Giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Agron is lost in his thoughts, Tiberius gets his chance to ogle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know I told ya'll I would post this like two weeks ago but I have been getting reading for the start of classes and just haven't had time to sit down and type.
> 
> This is the second half of my First Encounters piece. I wanted to do Nasir/Tiberius' POV during that scene where they are togther for the first time. Yes I know they don't interact but I refuse to believe that they did not notice each other.
> 
> At the beginning I touch on Nasir and Chadara's lives as Roman slaves so there are some Rape/Abuse/Beating references. That is where the Rape warning comes in.
> 
> Now here is Nasir's little ogle moment :)
> 
> I do not own any of the original characters, plot lines, or dialogue. I do not profit from this story. However please respect the fact that this is an original work and a result of long hours wrangling plot bunnies and epic battles with my arch-nemesis...grammar. Please do not re-purpose this story without my permission.

Tiberius watched the display before him with emotionless eyes. It was a sight he had seen many times during his days in this particular Roman villa, though it was not an unusual sight in the others he had lived within. Chadara was naked except for her collar, splayed out on her back while Dominus rutted over her. Her face was blank, as if she too looked on as observer rather than participant in the act. Tiberius knew, both from his many late night conversations with Chadara and his own personal experience, that the best path to take in such circumstances was to remove oneself entirely from the deed. In so doing the slave avoided disgust, guilt, and most importantly discomfort. Chadara had lived within a Roman villa longer than even Tiberius, she had been born the daughter of Roman slave rather than taken from far away lands as a child, and had long since developed the skill of removing herself completely from any act Dominus wished of her.

Dominus grunted, his faced distorted in a mixture of irritation, strain, and building pleasure. He forced Chadara to twist around and lie on her stomach, grabbing her hair as she did and began pounding into her with more force.

"Tiberius," Dominus' voice had Tiberius snapping to attention, "I would finish…place cock in ass."

Before Tiberius could form the thought to move, a loud commotion came from the courtyard of the villa, breaking the calm of the night with the sound of screams and clashing metal.

"My robes, quickly!" Dominus screamed at Tiberius, pulling out of Chadara and heading for the door leading out into the hall.

Tiberius hurried to help Dominus into his robes and Chadara quickly dressed herself. They could hear the sounds moving closer to Dominus' room and the trio could not mistake the sound of battle, swords clashing and the screams as guards were run through. Tiberius moved closer to Chadara, a vicious snarl upon lips, determined to shelter her from whatever hell lurked outside the door. Though he was merely a slave with no fighting skill, he would gladly give his life to protect his friend.

Someone burst into the room sword in hand. The man was taller than Tiberius, most men were, widely built and dark of hair. He was clothed in harsh rags and they were splattered in blood. Tiberius found himself wondering if it belonged to the head guard who had bruised Tiberius' face and broken his finger when he had refused to allow the Roman to mount him, or whether it belonged to the cook, Valencia. She was a sweet mild mannered Roman born slave who's tiny frame and golden curls had made her Dominus' favorite late night distraction until her figure had been made undesirable by birthing four of Dominus' many children. Or maybe it was…

Tiberius was pull from his increasingly hysterical thoughts as the intruder grab Dominus by the scruff and began to drag him through the halls of the villa. Another brute came and started pushing Tiberius and Chadara in the same direction. They acquiesced, trailing behind their screaming dominus. When they reached the courtyard they found it filled with the villa's slaves and more harsh looking men like the two held them captive.

One man in particular stood under the eaves of the villa speaking out to the assembled slaves demanding that they calm. He spoke of a choice, of choosing between Roman masters and freedom. Tiberius assumed the man had gone mad. Apparently Dominus did as well because he looked over at the man with a snarl and demand who was he to provide such a choice.

The strange man looked down at Dominus' kneeled form. "I am Spartacus," he said and Tiberius could see the blood drain from Dominus' face.

Stories of the Thracian gladiator, killer of Theocules and Bringer of Rain, had run rampant throughout the villa for the past few months. Tales of how he and his fellow gladiators had massacred their dominus and scores of Roman nobles. How the rebel hoard of fugitivus slaves were sacking all the villas around Capua, murdering any Roman within their path and breaking the chains binding all slaves held within. Tiberius could not understand why the other slaves within the villa had spoke of the man with awe and reverence, for Tiberius knew that the only reward for rebelling against your dominus was lashings at best and execution by crucifixion at worst. Yet here stood the man determined to destroy the small amount of peace Tiberius had created within the Roman world. He stood as Dominus' body slave, favored highest amongst all the house slaves within the villa. He had both position and respect and he had earned them both by biting his tongue and swallowing abuses and other at Dominus' whim.

He watched all that he had earned through blood, sweat, tears, and cum crumble before him as another of the fugitivus carried off Dominus with murderous intent clear in his eyes.

After Dominus was dragged away, two of the rebels forced Tiberius and the other male house slaves to fall into line before the man claiming to be Spartacus. The man started to speak to them of choices and freedom and refusing to bow beneath Roman masters. Tiberius found it hard to listen to the man's words. They were all Roman slaves, what gave them the right to speak of freedom? _All you have done is killed us all!_

Tiberius was silently fuming within his thoughts when he looked over at Spartacus' companion, no longer able to look upon the man that would be his executioner in spirit if not in deed. He had noticed that Spartacus was not alone when he had approached the slaves, yet Tiberius had not spared the man a passing thought. He had been too overwhelmed with the implications of Spartacus' actions and his own anger toward the Thracian. He would have continued to ignore the rebel if Tiberius had not felt the man's eyes upon him, the heat of their stare threatening to burn him to ash.

When Tiberius snuck a glance from under his lashes, he felt his breath catch and his heart seize within his chest. The man was a giant! Tiberius was accustomed to all other men looking down at him due to his small stature. Yet this rebel towered several heads above him. Tiberius wondered if he would even reach the man's shoulders if placed beside him.

He was clothed in nothing more than a tattered subligaria, stained with blood and dirt, leaving his form visible to Tiberius' appraising eyes.

The giant was clearly one of the gladiators that had rebelled alongside Spartacus, escaping the ludus of Batiatus. Every inch of him was molded from hardened muscle carved out through the rigorus training of a gladiator wrapped in golden skin tanned from long hours in the heat of sun. He had long, muscular legs with thick calves and strong thighs. Tiberius lingered for a moment and reveled in the way the moonlight highlighted and further defined the taut thigh muscles hidden beneath the skin. He followed their hills and valleys up, halting for but a moment to appreciate the size of the bulge within the rebel's subligaria before moving to the hardened planes of the man's stomach. Tiberius could count each of the rebel's perfectly defined abs and his fingers itched to trace their outlines. Moving further still, Tiberius' gaze fell on the man's chest and the raised scar high upon his left pectoral. Tiberius found himself wondering about it's origins and wishing to trace its shape with his tongue. His mouth watered at the thought of tasting the giant's tanned skin. The scar drew Tiberius' eyes to the rebel's wide shoulders and massive arms. He could imagine being wrapped in their embrace, the giant's strength and warmth soaking into Tiberius and causing him to tremble with the ecstasy. _The man is a god, built like fucking Jupiter himself!_

Tiberius was building his courage to look upon the man's face when Spartacus was suddenly standing before him, bringing his attention back to the Thracian and away from the golden giant. Spartacus reached toward Tiberius, who tensed expecting a blow. Yet the rebel only moved to rip Tiberius' slave collar from around his neck. Tiberius' hand flew to his throat, the skin rough and callused from years spent with the leather around his neck. With its presence removed Tiberius felt naked and vulnerable.

His thoughts were still upon the absence of that which marked him as slave for the majority of his life when another of the rebels presented him with the hilt of a sword. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the giant shake his head and look away, irritation and disgust clear in his expression. Tiberius was hesitant to take the blade, yet the rebel was insistent and when Tiberius' hand wrapped around the weapon he found a thought growing in his mind. It would probably mean his death at the hands of the rebels, but it would be preferably to an execution at the hands of the Romans.

Tiberius sighed. His only regret would be never having the opportunity to know the golden giant that so easily captured his attention.

**Author's Note:**

> As always please comment, give kudos, bookmark, ANYTHING! I love to hear what ya'll think so don't be shy.


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